


hand

by zohe



Category: GOT7
Genre: About Jinyoung, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Im Jaebum | JB-centric, Inspired by Tomorrow Today, M/M, Semi-realistic I hope, Short One Shot, Written in Jaebum's point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zohe/pseuds/zohe
Summary: Your hand.…was something I wanted to hold on to.(In which 'I' is Jaebum, and 'you' refers to Park Jinyoung)





	hand

Your hand.

 

_…was something I wanted to hold on to._

Between the empty spaces of silent conversations and in that peaceful bubble of joy that floated in the air about you, and _us_ , my hands reach out, just a bit closer. You are smiling, and laughing. I hear your voice sounding about around me, like white dust and the cooling breeze in the distance. In that moment, things around me felt light.

I see dizzy bright dots, and the lines around your eyes.

 

Without me realizing, my fingers tremble, ever so slightly. Reaching out towards you.

 

I count the times you blink.

Once, twice.

 

You are smiling, and I don’t know what I am thinking.

But that my hands are reaching out to you.

 

The most delicate distance wasn’t the physical space that separated us; it never was. It was the precarious balance between holding on to our friendship – an inexplicable feeling of closeness and that gentle but strong connection we had for each other –

…and daring to thread the fine boundaries of something else that flickered in the distance.

 

Our hands touch, because.

 

Because it’s always been natural.

It’s always been like that. My hands in yours, or your hands in mine. A certain bond, a certain friendship; a playful hi-five, a little handshake.

 

_How many years has it been?_

_How many more years will it be?_

 

The first thought makes me happy, knowing that I’ve met you. It’s not the first thought I had, because god knows we’ve had our differences. But… I’m glad. Glad that things turned out the way they did. Glad for the times we’ve spent together. Glad that I _can_ say I’m glad to have met you, and to have known you. It’s not a happiness that is bursting at the seams, uncontained and exploding.

 

It’s not like that.

 

…even so, it’s a happiness I cherish, and find myself relishing in.

In quieter moments, in moments of reflection. When I see your reflection beside my own, and you smile at me. It’s a tired smile, but a genuine one. When I am alone, but don’t quite want to be, and you would just sit beside me, wordlessly.

In vibrant moments, and in moments of excitement. When I hear your open laughter in the wind, and you’re laughing so hard. It’s not your most appealing look, and yet. You are beautiful, is all I think, in a moment like that. When you are dancing, our movements matching, sharp moves and quick, but elegant footwork. There’s a passion in your eyes, and it’s the same one that I hold, and… I feel proud of you somehow, and of me. Where we are, and how far we’ve come.

 

_Us._

 

With you around, I feel a comfortable familiarity that I can’t quite explain.

Without you around… I guess we would have walked a very different path. There’s no saying how that would have been. A younger me might have really liked an idea like that, you know?

But now, I'm thankful things worked out to the way they did.

 

 

The second thought…

_Hm._

 

I don’t know what to think.

 

My hand reach to hold on to your shoulder because that’s the way it’s come to be. It naturally settles around you, just as you naturally lean into my arm around you.

 

I touch you on the part of your arm, just above the elbow.

I touch you by the back of your neck.

 

The sides of your palm graze my cheeks because you’re leaning over trying to tell me something. It’s cold, it’s gentle. It’s _soft_. You say something I don’t remember.

Probably because it’s one of our stupid inside jokes. Or maybe it’s one of your insulting disses. I am smiling anyway. Smiling stupidly widely.

 

Maybe, it’s because of how the coldness of your hands felt imprinted on my cheeks.

 

Skin, against skin.

 

Your hand… I felt like warming them up.

 

 

Because, I think… I’ve never really thought about it.

 

The intimacy of the action.

My hands, and yours.

 

I get lost in the moment, and I simply reach out.

 

The most comforting warmth wasn’t the act of holding your hand, I realized. But that in those moments when I’m reaching out towards you, your hands are also extending towards me. We meet halfway, like we always do.

A mutual understanding, a mutual strand of thinking, a mutual touch of soft hands burning from softer feelings.

 

My heart shakes, and I know why, but I also don’t.

I don’t because, for the first time, these thoughts are crossing my head with such lucidity. The hand I reach out, the hand that reaches out for me. In between these flickering moments, our eyes meet. Your eyes glisten with a sparkle of something that I don’t quite know. And I wonder if you’re thinking about the same things, too.

 

I hope you are, but I also don’t.

So that I know I’m not alone.

 

But yet… I feel a tinge of fear and my heart racing in those moments. I don’t know where the boundaries are, but still, my hands are in front of me, boldly pulling away from me to reach you. I feel a bolt of rushing excitement, of what could be, when the tips of my fingers touch your skin. 

 

Your hand.

I held on to.

 

A warm, fluttering feeling throws my heart out of my chest.

 

Your hand.

I…

 

I never want to let go of.


End file.
